


Modern Way

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Literally the densest character I've ever written, M/M, Post-Episode: s09e10 Road Trip, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7868059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley asks Sam to meet him at a seedy bar, but finds himself stepping in to save the day when a woman at the bar can't take a hint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Modern Way

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted to Tumblr [here.](http://foxtherighteous.tumblr.com/post/149469735681/modern-way-moosley-canonverse-fake)
> 
> Named after the [Kaiser Chiefs song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SnxNJbWCcng) of the same name.

                Sam was certain that this was the bar Crowley had asked to meet him in, but looking around, he’d be forgiven for thinking otherwise. Crowley was a man of taste, usually refusing to be seen anywhere that didn’t sell ancient wines, so when Sam walked into the Horse’s Head bar and took in the sight of unwashed stools and broken glass, he had paused in the doorway and checked the address on his phone. Despite the questionable decor, Crowley was sat at the bar, being chatted up by an oblivious woman, and as Sam walked closer he began to hear what the woman was saying.

                “So that’s an interesting accent, where are you from? I bet it’s exotic,” the woman drawled, practically draping herself over the bar.

                “I’m from Britain, you ditzy twat,” Crowley replied. He had mumbled the last part, looking for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to snap his fingers and break her neck.

                “Oh wow, Britain! Isn’t that, like, European?”

                Crowley was genuinely growling by the time Sam had reached him. Despite spending all his time with them, Crowley openly despaired of Americans, which Sam thought that was unfair but he wasn’t about to get into a fight about it. His grip on the glass in front of him had tightened to the point that Sam was sure it would break any second, then he spotted Sam behind him and smirked.

                “Oh, would you look at that, if it isn’t my husband,” Crowley was staring straight at Sam as he said it. To say Sam was shocked would have been an understatement; he was lost for words, and preparing to correct the blatant lie, but then the woman spoke and Sam changed his mind instantly.

                “Your _husband?_ I didn’t take you for a fag.”

                The oblivious, insensitive, blatant homophobia gave Sam the overwhelming urge to punch her, but, like Crowley, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, he draped an arm across Crowley’s shoulders, jostling Crowley closer to him in the way that a husband would and put on his kindest smile. If you didn’t know Crowley you’d assume he was fine with that but Sam could tell that he was only barely concealing a scowl.

                “Hi, honey, want to introduce me to your friend here?” he asked.

                “This, darling, is Joanne. She’s been keeping me company,” Crowley replied, equally as civilly as Sam had spoken. “Believe she just called me a… cigarette? I’m thinking she may have had a little too much to drink. Perhaps we should offer her a lift home. Did you bring your car?”

                “Yes, but we don’t have long before we have to get to the charity auction, remember?” Sam smiled, bluffing through his teeth like the professional he was. Crowley looked over to him, still smiling but there was definitely underlying amusement in his expression.

                “Charity auction?” the ditz interrupted, looking as though she’d just punched someone’s dog.

                “Yeah, we’re holding an auction to raise money for housing the homeless, and tomorrow we’ll be spending the day building homes to support the charity,” the more Sam spoke, the guiltier the woman looked, and despite their pseudo-charitable nature he was getting a real kick out of it.

                “Oh, dear, would you look at the time? We appear to be running late,” Crowley interjected before the woman could get a word in, “let’s make our exit.”

                “Nice to meet you, Joanne,” Sam smiled and extended his hand to her, “have a wonderful evening.” When she shook his hand, he noticed her slightly trembling though whether that was from the direction of the conversation or the amount of alcohol she’d consumed, he didn’t know.

                They held posture until the moment they’d both stepped outside the bar, staring straight ahead and refusing to even so much as snigger, but as they felt the cool air of the night hit them they seemed to dissolve into laughter that grew and grew.

                “I think we killed her with kindness,” Sam got out as he tried to reclaim his breath. “I’m your husband now, am I?”

                “It’s funny, Moose. I’ve seen the sitcoms,” Crowley chuckled.

                “Yeah, but why husband? Why not boyfriend or something?”

                “Boyfriend? I detest the word,” he scoffed, a hint of disgust under the humour in his words.

                “Why did you call me here, anyway? Aside from abandoned warehouses and, y’know, _hell_ , this has to be the seediest place I’ve ever seen you.”

                “I’m on the run, you may remember,” Crowley replied, his speech tainted with sarcasm, “anyone that’s ever known me would know to search for me in the nearest five star hotel. I have standards and unfortunately I’ve made no secret of it.”

                “Seedy bar it is then,” Sam conceded, “fair enough.”

                They stood in silence for a while as Sam leant back against the wall of the bar, appreciating the break from researching how to kill Abbadon. “Y’know,” he started, “I don’t do jumping into relationships. You should probably buy me dinner first.”

                Between them was the knowledge that it was a joke, but there was something sobering about the way that the steam curled visibly from Sam’s mouth as he spoke, peeking into each of their lines of vision regardless of that neither was looking at the other.

                “Lost cause, Moose,” Crowley sighed.

                “Oh yeah?” Sam wasn’t surprised. There were a million reasons it could have never happened, least of which was that they would have had nothing non-work related to talk about. They had contrasting tastes, they would have argued, it would have been a mess.

                “Couldn’t take you anywhere nice, anyway,” Crowley clarified, at which the both managed to laugh and break the serenity of the night.

                “You could take me anywhere other than here and I’d be happy. Well, here and home.”

                “Maybe another day,” Crowley conceded.

                The real reason that Crowley had asked to meet him there was so they could update each other on their progress in the fight against Abbadon, however the meeting quickly became redundant as they realised neither of them were any closer to a solution. With that knowledge, they parted ways, Sam returning to the bunker; Crowley retreating back into hiding, somehow managing to leave the conversation open for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are like being fed lasagna because lasagna is my favourite food.
> 
> If you want to prompt me, drop me an ask or a message to [FoxTheRighteous.Tumblr.com](foxtherighteous.tumblr.com).
> 
> Just wanted to say, I loved writing this, partially because it wasn't too strenuous and partially because I got to write Crowley, a character from my own neck of the woods (England, that is), therefore, I wasn't having to picture anyone massively far from myself in terms of dialect and mannerisms. We're not _that_ close to each other 'cause he's a Londoner far as I can tell and I'm actually from the north, but it's still easier to envision him than any of the Winchesters, for example.


End file.
